


Help Me Hold On to You

by catlike



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, dug out an old batman story staple for this one, with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 18:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catlike/pseuds/catlike
Summary: She looks up and sees the shock in Bruce’s eyes, as if he’s as surprised that he said it out loud as much as she’s surprised to hear it. Then the shock is suddenly replaced by something like a plea.Don’t run, his eyes beg her, because they both know that this is what she usually does when he says things that get too personal.Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.Or: Bruce unintentionally confesses something that Selina isn’t quite prepared to hear.





	Help Me Hold On to You

**Author's Note:**

> For the tumblr request Batcat + the word “run” + some angst.

“Here,” Selina hears Bruce say, “you can wear these.”

The trap they’re setting to take down the current lunatic-of-the-moment in Gotham involves passing Selina off as upper-class, so when Selina tells Bruce that she needs jewelry and he says he’ll take care of it, she’s expecting him to buy her something to use as a prop.

But instead of a new shopping bag, she sees him bringing an old box out of his bedroom. The box looks worn, but not in the way the things Selina owns look worn - with tattered edges and rough patches that come from close calls and carelessness - no, this box looks like it’s the type of worn that comes from being well-loved, and though it’s obvious that it’s old, it still looks elegant and well-taken care of. 

She watches curiously as Bruce opens the lid so she can see what lies inside, and then when she does see, her heart nearly stops. He holds the box out for her to take, and she sees confusion flicker across his face when she steps away from him instead of toward him, as if it’s something forbidden lying against the box’s inner silvery grey satin lining and not a strand of pale pearls. But, to her at least, forbidden things and the pearls are synonymous.

“No, Bruce,” she says, placing the palm of her hand against the box and gently pushing it back to him, “I can’t wear your mother’s pearls.”

“Why not?” he asks, and he looks so confused, like the thought that she shouldn’t be wearing them never once crossed his mind.

“They were your _mom’s_,” Selina says. Things like that meant too much. She doesn’t have anything from her mother except for that half tarnished locket, but she knows about heirlooms and sentimentality, knows about the things they represent.

Silently, Bruce’s eyes search hers, and Selina realizes that he’s waiting for her to give him a better answer, because _of course_ he knows those are his mother’s and _of course_ he doesn’t understand.

_Honestly_, she thinks. He’s the billionaire heir. He should know all of that rich people prized family jewels nonsense. Even _she’s_ slipped into enough galas to know that there’s always some vapid socialite bragging about how she’s got her grandmother’s garnets or her fiancée’s family ring. Selina knows that things like that are not meant for her. Not unless she steals them. 

“You’re supposed to be keeping those nice in the box for the future Mrs. Wayne,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

He seems to be considering her sentence, which is why she’s surprised that he holds the box out to her again, and even more surprised when he says, “I can’t see anyone but you ever wearing them.”

He says this quietly, almost absently, like he’s not even realizing that he’s thinking out loud and what he’s just admitted to and that she’s listening.

But Selina is listening, and she freezes, the implications of what he just said blaring loudly in her mind. It’s like the world’s stopping instead of spinning and she’s feeling the walls closing in and the air getting thin and the thought of the name _Mrs. Wayne_ ever being offered to her makes something in her ache to run.

She looks up and sees the shock in Bruce’s eyes, as if he’s as surprised that he said it out loud as much as she’s surprised to hear it. Then the shock is suddenly replaced by something like a plea. _Don’t run_, his eyes beg her, because they both know that this is what she usually does when he says things that get too personal. _Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run._

If she’s being honest, her gut instinct is to run. Talking about them, about what they mean to each other, feels more dangerous than jumping from rooftops ever did. And what’s the point of talking about this, this _thing_ \- whatever it is - between them anyway? Talking’s only for if they were going to act on it, acting on it’s only for if they thought anything could come of it and when it comes down to it, the facts are these: 

He’ll always be Bruce Wayne, the heir, the billionaire, Gotham’s prince with the heart of gold. And she’ll always be Selina Kyle, the street cat with claws of steel and a heart to match. They’re like parallel lines that can never quite meet, two constellations in the sky that always appear side by side but can never quite reach each other. It’s a wonder they’ve stayed in each other’s lives this long. There’s no way the universe will allow them to keep this up, the back of her mind tells her, there’s no way he can have a future with her in it. And it’s pointless to want what you can’t have.

He’s not hers. She definitely wasn’t ever his. One day, years from now, they’ll be nothing but footnotes in each other’s stories. She’s always known this. 

So why does it bother her so much?

“Selina,” Bruce says, interrupting her thoughts, “I mean, I didn’t - “

But he doesn’t find the rest of the words, doesn’t finish his sentence, it’s like he’s falling and trying to find his footing.

He means what he said, Selina realizes, he just wishes he hadn’t actually _said_ it.

And those are two entirely different things.

“Just forget I said anything,” he says, as if she can, as if that’s possible, as if his words aren’t echoing around the cavern of her mind and eating her alive. “Please. Just don’t run.”

_Don’t run_, he’d begged her, back in that week they first met and he was breathless up on a rooftop somewhere in-between the pavement and the pale grey sky. _Please don’t run off again, I’m out of breath._

He’s acting the same way he did then, she thinks, where his voice is quiet but his eyes are screaming with things he’s not saying and he’s desperate not to lose her.

But you can’t lose someone you don’t have. Loving someone does not make them _yours_, after all, Selina thinks, and she hates the bitter taste in her mouth she gets when she thinks it, hates the fact that she actually cares.

“Alright,” she hears herself saying, her voice coming out sharper and harder than she wants. But she can’t help it, can’t help she’s grown armor as sharp as jagged glass. “Just forget it. I’ll wear them.”

Bruce shakes his head, “No, you shouldn’t have to if it bothers you that much, Selina. It’s okay, it’s not like you’re - “

She finds she doesn’t want to hear the rest of his sentence for some reason. Reaching out, she takes the box from him. “I’m wearing them,” she says, “it’s fine.”

His eyes sweep over her like he’s analyzing and calculating, he does that sometimes, when he’s trying to figure out what he missed and where he went wrong. He opens his mouth, and Selina knows that he’ll somehow manage to make everything worse, so she stops him.

She pulls the pearls out of the box, thrusts them in his hand, and turns around. “Put them on,” she says, and she realizes she sounds angry, but she’s not angry, not at him, she’s…she doesn’t know what she is.

Her back’s to him, so she can’t see his face, but she can feel him hesitating, feel the uncertainty roll off him in waves so huge she’s afraid it’ll pull them both under.

“It’s fine, Bruce,” she says again, but her voice is just a shade softer now. It somehow always ends up softer with him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just for a con.”

It’s a lie. She knows they both know it. 

But at least she’s not running.

She feels him move, sees the white strand drape into her view and around her throat; shuts her eyes as she feels his hands against her hair and the pads of his fingers brushing against the back of her neck as he locks the clasp.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I - “ he hesitates, like he’s afraid to say something, afraid of scaring her off, but he continues anyway. “I think my mom would have liked you, and approve of me giving you her pearls.” He stops, backtracks again in a rush. “For today, I mean.”

Selina nods. She doesn’t know why his words mean something to her, but they do. She’d rather not think about it. She’s still fighting the instinct to run, but she finds that the pearls feel calmingly cool against the curve of her collarbone, and the length is perfect, and they’re not nearly as heavy as she thought they’d be. Something about them just feels _right_.

It was hard to put them on. It’s going to be harder to take them off and give them back.

But she won’t have to do that until later, and this is _now_. For now, they’re hers. Maybe that’s enough. 

Maybe for once she’s glad she didn’t run.


End file.
